


Peach Pit of Despair

by Pluperfect_Lover



Series: Parallel Lives [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Ear-Worm, M/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluperfect_Lover/pseuds/Pluperfect_Lover
Summary: A piece inspired by the band Peach Pit (how aptly named) song “Shampoo Bottles”.Armie is a mess.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Parallel Lives [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633897
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	Peach Pit of Despair

Armie sits alone on the sofa, staring out into space. Pizza boxes, Chinese take-out containers, and dozens of beer bottles are strewn on the coffee table and floor nearby. He hasn’t showered for a few days, or maybe it’s been a week already? His hair is oily and out of control, and his usual clean-shaven face has days of growth. His t-shirt has pizza sauce on it, and he’s not been wearing pants for days, choosing to lounge only in a pair of loose-fitting boxers instead. The radio plays in the background. 

_“FUCK, THIS SONG!!!_ It’s the newest ear-worm indie song that’s been playing every few hours on this shit Top 40 Station. Depressing and gloomy music is not going to cure my heartbreak,” he thinks to himself.

If Armie had any motivation he’d locate his phone and change the radio station to a peppy playlist or at least a different station, but he just can’t be bothered. The phone has been ‘missing’ for at least 12 hours. Maybe it’s under the newest pizza box, but who really cares? His biggest priority right now is to wallow. 

As the fucking song starts for the fourth time today, Armie listens and thinks...

**_I've been leaving your shampoo bottles_ **

**_Over in the corner there_ **

**_Sitting empty on the bathtub rail_ **

**_Wishing they could wash your hair_ **

He sniffles a bit. He loves - loved - Tim’s hair. In the bathtub with T sitting in between Armie’s legs, while he lathered suds into Tim’s crown of curls. Tim pushing his head into the pressure, for an extra-deep massage. Armie carefully rinsing the soap out and adding the conditioner. Tim was really particular with the brand he used. On rare occasions when he’d run out, he’d refuse to use Armie’s. He’s sure the scent of watermelons will be a Pavlovian response for the years to come--smell a watermelon, grow a semi.

**_Yea I keep’ em by that crumb of fancy soap_ **

**_And your toothbrush at my bathroom sink_ **

Tim stormed out in such a frantic rush of anger and animosity, he left behind most of his toiletries. Armie can’t even remember exactly how the fight started, but this time the result is clear; Tim is gone, and he isn’t coming back, even after his reshoots for _Dune_ are completed. So now instead of just having a heavy heart, his eyes remind him every time he steps into the ensuite bathroom that Tim is gone. So, maybe that is why he’s been only using the powder room for the past week? Maybe that is why he hasn’t taken a shower? Maybe he’s avoiding all of the bottles and potions Tim has left strewn through what used to be _their_ bathroom? Or maybe Armie is just too fucking depressed to get off the sofa to shower?

**_Your cell phone chargers still hanging from the wall_ **

**_Haven't chucked it all, like you'd think_ **

**_Though you haven't been around in weeks_ **

Tim even left his iPad behind. It looks like it slipped off the bed when he was throwing things into his bags. Armie found it jammed between the bed and nightstand. For the first three days he heard the notifications ping, but that stopped several days ago. Armie has been so depressed, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the screen and snoop. If Tim wants Armie to know where he is, or wants to communicate with him, he knows how to contact him. But Armie is not counting on that. The hurt and rage that spewed from Timmy, and shitiness that even came from Armie, was more than anyone could be expected to forgive. Although Armie knows that without a doubt, he’d forgive Tim in a second.

**_I've run out of my speed stick honey_ **

**_So I have been using yours_ **

**_It's fucking trash all that organic hoo hah_ **

**_From one of your health food stores_ **

He stooped a few days ago to using Tim’s abandoned deodorant. Armie actually had a new stick under the sink in the bathroom, but couldn’t be bothered taking the ten steps to get it--or at least this is the excuse Armie has convinced himself of. When he decided to change his t-shirt for the first time in three days, he thought a swipe of pit-stick would be appropriate--the scent of Tim’s ‘Old Spice - Pure Sport’ nearly sent him into a spiral, but he recovered after crying into a beer. Beyond the bathroom bottles, Armie is dreading going through the kitchen. Every cupboard and nook of the fridge has organic shit that Tim insisted they eat. ‘If a bug won’t bite it, why should we, Armie?’ Armie snickers, but regains his composure and returns to his depressing misery.

**_It is seemingly worsened everyday_ **

**_All this shit of yours around my house_ **

**_If I could've had it any other way_ **

**_Then by now I would've chucked it out_ **

**_But it seems to wanna stick around_ **

And that’s really the crux of it, isn’t it? He needs Tim’s stuff out of the apartment, but at the same time, if he removes it, this home he has built in NYC will not feel like a home. He wishes he was brave enough to take a few boxes and throw out Tim’s shit, and bag up his clothes and tell him to send a messenger over to grab them, but he can’t, he won’t… at least not yet. It’s only been a week, or maybe it has been longer, but Tim’s crap is what makes this apartment home.

**_I've been leaving you in radio silence_ **

**_Though I'd love to catch a pass_ **

These lines get him every time, ha! No, it is definitely Tim who has been radio-silencing Armie. He would’ve landed about twelve hours after he stormed out, and while Tim’s reshooting schedule is intense, there is no way he would’ve been too busy to text for over a week. Within the first 48-hours Armie should’ve heard from him, but he didn’t. The last words from Timmy: “I have no illusions about you whatsoever, and I still love you, but I’m done. I can’t keep self-flagellating. I need to start protecting my self respect..” And with that, the door slammed. The echo Armie swears he can still hear.

**_Waited long enough that I could never call you_ **

**_Baby how fucked is that_ **

At first Armie didn’t want to suffocate Tim when he landed in Europe. He was angry… actually Tim was more than angry, he was seething. Armie also knew Tim had to concentrate on the reshoot, but at some point in time, somewhere between ‘too soon/too needy,’ the timing had gotten to “too late/too blasé. He’s still not sure when he should’ve called or in the least texted, but the window passed days ago. And now each day only adds more dirt onto the top of Armie’s grave.

**_And it's all just so forgettable_ **

**_Till I'm sitting with your stuff alone_ **

**_Man why can't I just let it go_ **

Armie smirks and looks down at himself. He is actually wearing a pair of Tim’s boxers. A fan must’ve given them to him—they’re way too big for Timmy’s lithe frame. They have peaches all over them. His t-shirt is one of Tim’s really old ones from high school. The neck’s stretched out, and it has a few micro-tears. If anyone asked why he was wearing this combination, Armie would claim it was that it was what he found on the floor, but he knows - he found them in the laundry hamper. They had been worn in the days leading up to Tim’s exodus. When he put them on - three days ago - they smelled like Tim. Now they just smell of despair and loneliness. 

**_I've been seeing that red Corolla parked out on the corner there_ **

**_If it were yours_ **

**_There'd be some hippie bullshit hanging from the rear view mirror_ **

**_As I'm passing it every other day_ **

**_I look in to see if this one's yours_ **

**_But the shape it's in is giving it away_ **

**_Yours is dented up and down the doors_ **

**_Never wanted to see it more_ **

Fuck, Tim might not have left his car on the street to torture him, but everytime Armie’s phone pinged until about 12 hours ago when it lost power and was misplaced some where, his heart would skip. Maybe it was _Timmy_ finally reaching out. (A few times it was Liz trying to set up FaceTime with the kids, but Armie was able to play sick, and put her off.) It got to the point where Armie had to turn off his notifications, because the _hope_ that Tim would reach out was killing him. At least with no notifications, he couldn’t be disappointed by the silence.

The song repeats the chorus and finishes with,

**_Man why can't I just let it go_ **

Because he can’t… He just can’t.

The song finally ends, and Armie makes note of the time. In less than four hours, he’ll be hearing it again, and he can really lean into the sadness again; but for now, he can simply resume staring at the wall.

There’s a knock at the door. Armie doesn’t get up. He hasn’t ordered any food, or has he? No, no he hasn’t.

There's another series of knocks that are becoming increasingly aggressive. Armie looks down at himself. Fuck it. If whoever is at the door is this insistent that he answer it, they can damn well deal with him in boxers and a shitty t-shirt.

He winds carefully around the boxes and bottles on the floor, while the knocking continues. He unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door.

Tim is standing there, his luggage stacked behind him, hair a bit disheveled, his eyes watery, but no tears falling.

“I don’t have my keys,” he heaves a deep sigh and continues. “I don’t know how to quit you Armie. I tried. I really did. You’re it for me.” Tim looks exhausted, defeated, and yet relieved. He walks towards Armie who opens his arms to embrace his love.

“Let’s go have a bath. I’ll wash your hair, and we can talk… or not,” sighs Armie. “I’ve missed the smell of your watermelon shampoo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like Armie, this song has been an ear-worm for me, but I seem to like it a lot more than he does! I encourage you to search for it if you are a fan of indie; it is very mellow and melodic. Thank you for reading!


End file.
